Why pretend?
by peanut14
Summary: 'Because I know,' Sherlock replied solemnly, 'I know why you are so angry all the time.'
1. the way you love me

After Baskerville.

Chapter 1- **…the way you love me**

It was dusk when Sherlock finally drove up the leaf littered driveway.

In the hours in between while he waited, John had plenty time to think about the conversation at breakfast.

_'Henry Knight, needs someone to mansion sit,' Sherlock had blurted out as he walked out of his room with his lap top bag over one shoulder and his suitcase wheeling behind him, 'I fancy I will take a holiday at the same time. Quite overdue don't you think?'_

By the time John could recover himself, the detective was already gone. Of course, nothing in itself was wrong with Sherlock wanting a holiday but the abruptness of it all, on the heels of his withdrawn behaviour of late, had thrown the small doctor into a panic.

An hour later, after the doctor had checked in with all his 'sources' to ensure that there was no reasonable explanation for this behaviour, he was in the air courtesy 'Mycroft' airlines.

'Hello?!' Sherlock called out sharply, bringing the small man back to the present moment, 'who's that in the shadows? Step out and be quick about it!'

'Mycroft organised a helicopter lift,' John replied feebly in response to the detective's stunned look of amazement.

They stared at each quietly; the tension of the last couple of weeks rippling in the air between them.

'Can't a man take a holiday without so much suspicion being excited?' the detective replied wearily. 'I trust you didn't fly out here just to pick another fight. I am a little tired right now.'

Just then, the fading light of the sunset caught Sherlock's face at the perfect angle. John gasped softly at the man's blood shot eyes. His flatmate looked haggard and defeated.

'No, of course not,' the doctor said hastily, too shocked by the man's appearance to even realise what he was saying, 'Sherlock what's wrong? Please tell me.'

The detective looked at him almost despairingly for a long moment, before he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, as if it didn't really matter anymore. Without warning, Sherlock extended his hand and with one finger, traced a path gently down the side of the doctor's face.

'Why did you do that?' John managed to gasp out in a mortifying high pitched squeak, as he jumped back, painfully colliding with the car door of Sherlock's rented vehicle.

'Because I know,' Sherlock replied solemnly, 'I know why you are so angry all the time.'

_No…no…no._

_This wasn't happening._

'I know you don't want to feel this way about me and it's killing you slowly and I don't know what to do to help you,' Sherlock continued quickly, taking advantage of his flatmate's shock, 'Don't you see what's happening here?! If you continue to hide from this, in the end you will pack your things and leave, and not even understand why. I don't want that. I don't want you to go. John, it really doesn't matter to me if I am your friend, brother or your lover. These labels mean nothing to me…nothing! You know I am speaking the truth, because you know me.'

This entire speech was delivered to John's bent head but the lack of vociferous, obscene objections gave Sherlock hope.

The detective reached out a comforting hand to grasp the man's shoulder, 'This could just be a passing physical infatuation John. And even if it isn't, we can work through it. There was really no need for you to tear yourself apart all these months, and shoulder all of this on your own. As I said before, you are my friend, my only friend and I am so very glad that you are here. Please let me help you. Please'

'Are you sure you don't mind?' John whispered almost desperately.

Instead of looking at his face, the doctor concentrated with all of his might on Sherlock's coat buttons.

Time seemed to stand still for the doctor as he waited for the proverbial axe to fall and destroy everything that was good in his life. Only now, when it was too late to do anything about it, did John really understand how much he cared for the man before him.

The detective took a slow step toward him and bent over to softly press his lips against the doctor's cheek.

John was grateful that the car was behind his back, giving him support because it felt as though he was on the verge of collapse.

As he closed his eyes tight to hold on to the sensations for as long as he could, John felt the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. No cooked up smutty fantasy, he had ever dreamed about late at night when he was alone in his cold, lonely bed, could even compare to how he felt now. He was completely overwhelmed by the tenderness of Sherlock's touch.

'I have never minded the way you choose to love me John,' Sherlock whispered in his ear.

TBC?


	2. to be happy again

Chapter 2- **to be happy again**

John blushed furiously when he realised that not only had he lost track of time, but that Sherlock had been gently holding him upright, while he swayed on his feet like a love sick teenager.

He was too mortified to even ask how long they had been standing there, in the dark.

'There is no need to be embarrassed,' the detective murmured as John tried to avoid his eyes, 'Does it help if I tell you that I am flattered that you find my physical transport so appealing?'

John shook his head, trying to pull away from the man's arms and scramble back to some sort of mental reality. Was Sherlock really offering to be his lover, just so that he would be happy again? Who in their right mind does that? This was insane. Besides which he wasn't gay, he was…dear God…now he understood why people said they are confused.

In the meantime, the detective scowled in displeasure as John pushed against his chest; silently asking to be released.

'Oh, I understand,' Sherlock hissed, 'You wish to go back to denying everything. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.'

The doctor stiffened in delighted horror, as the detective unexpectedly reached out and threaded his strong fingers through his hair; gently angling his head to the side, before pressing his lips firmly against his neck.

'Can you deny how this makes you feel?' Sherlock whispered fiercely along John's suddenly, super sensitive skin. 'Tell me that you don't like it. Tell me!'

John fought not to groan out loud as the combination of Sherlock's frustrated anger and his touch, lanced through his body like a fiery whip; making his blood boil. He threw out his hands trying to maintain his balance, but of course the only thing left to hold on to in a world that was rapidly spinning out of control was Sherlock's coat.

'Don't,' John managed to strangle out, but if his flatmate heard him, he was ignoring it.

Instead, Sherlock slowly bent him over the side of the car while continuing his blistering assault along the column of his throat. The poor doctor couldn't help but whimper with pleasure as he gave himself over to the pure primal sensations of the man's kiss.

However, when the detective decided to use his tongue to lick his neck in one long leisurely stroke, John flinched so badly that he accidentally knocked the man into a nearby hedge.

By the time the tall man extracted himself, with some muttered curses directed towards the thorny branches, the doctor had walked off and seated himself on the porch swing.

From across the driveway, Sherlock cautiously observed the doctor's defensive posture and with an anxious cough, he cleared his throat.

'Look, I could have tried to make that point in a different way,' the detective said in a low voice of apology, 'I just didn't want you to go back to pretending and denying what you feel. I hope you know…..I hope you know that I wasn't trying to force myself on you.'

John's relaxed his tense shoulders, so thrilled that Sherlock appeared to still be his friend despite this whole mess, that he felt as though he was floating, 'don't be ridiculous Sherlock. That last part never crossed my mind. The tongue bit just startled me, that's all.'

_That, and the fact that I have a massive hard on; compliments on your exquisite kissing technique by the way._

'Good,' Sherlock replied in a relieved voice, 'Thank you. I came up here to Baskerville, just so that we could take a break from all the fighting. I couldn't sit there in the flat and watch you be so miserable. You following me out here, is our best chance to resolve to this situation. I would say it was fate, if I believed in such nonsense.'

John tucked his hands tightly around his body, hoping the other man wouldn't notice how they were shaking. He wanted to kiss Sherlock on the mouth so badly at this point; it would have been far easier to stop breathing.

Unaware of these lustful thoughts, the taller man ducked his head into the cab and wrestled his suitcases out of the car and up to the door of Henry's mansion, 'I am going to have a wash up.'

'I'll be out here. I could use a moment to myself,' John murmured breathlessly, glad for a little respite.

The detective opened his mouth as if to say something but changed his mind at the last second. John then looked on in surprise, as his flat mate stalked back to the car, opened the bonnet and removed the distributor cap, which he then slipped into his pocket.

'Don't give me that look,' Sherlock snapped; showing some of his characteristic fire that had been sadly diminished for the past few weeks, 'you know you were thinking it.'

John smiled faintly in amusement. Leaving before he did something really stupid had crossed the doctor's mind, but he had no idea how to hot wire a car, which Sherlock apparently suspected he was thinking of doing, the minute his back was turned.

Resembling his more familiar moody persona, Sherlock stalked through the door carrying his luggage, 'We faced down Chinese assassins, murdering cabbies, bomb wielding psychopaths and the hound from hell together. This will be no different. Pull yourself together man!'

John sighed as the man vanished through the door; wishing he felt as confident as Sherlock sounded.


	3. no one else in the world

Chapter 3 – **no one else in the world**

Like a good doctor and as the assistant to a world famous detective, John approached most of his problems methodically.

So, what were the facts so far?

One, Sherlock Holmes was his best friend.

Two, he was physically attracted to his best friend.

Three, the best friend knew he was 'in lust' with him.

Four, the best friend, apparently didn't care two straws that he felt that way.

Five, the best friend had volunteered to participate in a week of 'helping' John with his sexual dilemma.

Six, the best friend was an idiot.

No, he wasn't an idiot. John knew that. Sherlock's brain just didn't function in a way that understood labels like wife, lover, gay or straight. Such social distinctions ranked very low on his list of things that should be in his hard drive.

_'Why is it so important for people to know if I am gay or not?' Sherlock had asked him in a quiet voice, as they enjoyed a night in at home, 'Love is an incredible and intensely individually emotion to be experienced, not put into little boxes. Maybe if you explain to me, why you care so much if people think that you are gay, I might understand.'_

The doctor smiled as he remembered the conversation, before covering his face with his shaking hands. Sherlock was offering; it wasn't like he was taking advantage of the detective's unique views about love and sexuality, was it?

Maybe he couldn't think clearly right now, not so soon after Sherlock had almost given him a heart attack with the devastating assault on his senses. Even now he could still feel the heat of Sherlock's breath on his skin. For someone who was married to his work, Sherlock was amazingly adept at seduction.

'Dr. Watson?' came a tentative voice, from his left.

John raised his head quickly and smiled in welcome at the two hotel owners from the village. These familiar faces from the past were a wonderful surprise. 'Oh hullo there. Gary and Billy right?'

The couple however didn't smile back.

'Everything alright?' Gary asked sternly, 'we saw you from the path. That looks like quite an argument you were having. Where is Mr. Sherlock?'

_What? Good Gad, did they think…?_

'Sherlock!' the doctor called out hastily to the upstairs floor, 'we have some visitors, put your head out.'

After a moment, the curly haired man looked out the window and waved down to their guests.

'Are you alright sir?' Gary inquired in concerned, 'we saw you two fighting.'

'You should have seen us a week ago. Now that was a spectacle. I think everyone in London heard us.'

'Sherlock, no!' John hissed in embarrassment, as the two hoteliers looked at him in disgust, 'they don't need to know that. Just explain to them that I didn't deliberately push you to the ground just now.'

'Oh…that was an accident,' Sherlock immediately agreed, much to the doctor's relief, 'I shouldn't have used my tongue.'

John groaned softly while the couple exchanged understanding grins.

'It happens,' Gary remarked, 'I wake up with a shout in the middle of the night, because this one is hugging all the air out my body.'

Little Billy sniffed, 'better to be an octopus, than a snorer.'

While Gary and Sherlock chatted about the logistics of how Henry's mansion and large estate would be managed by the villagers during their stay, Billy walked over to where John stood, and offered the dinner they had brought.

John took the covered tray of food, nodding his thanks for their hospitality.

'Mr. Knight called and instructed us to take care of Mr. Sherlock,' the small man explained, 'Sorry we only brought a single plate. I told Gary we should bring two because I knew you would come down. Even if we were fighting, I wouldn't let my Gary go haring across the country and not at least check to make sure he's alright. I picked out the nicest guest room for you both. It has the most wonderful view of the moor. Clean towels are already in the bath and Gary stocked up the fireplace with plenty wood. If you're still hungry, there are some breakfast things to make an omelette in the fridge. We'll come tomorrow with more food.'

The kindly inn keeper peered into his face with a look of concern when John didn't answer. 'Are you okay? You can come down and stay with us, if you don't think you can manage on your own with your boyfriend tonight.'

'It's fine,' John reassured the other man with a gentle smile, 'I just never realised until today, that even though Sherlock drives me crazy, I don't think anyone else in the world could be a better friend to me.'

Billy reached out and gave him a friendly one handed hug, 'I know exactly what you mean.'


	4. someone special

Chapter 4- **someone ****special**

'Sherlock, can you come down? Let's eat this while it's still hot,' John called up the staircase.

The doctor bustled around Henry's designer kitchen, looking for plates and cutlery, as the detective noiselessly descended in sock clad feet. All the while, John kept his eyes averted, feeling at a loss for what to say next and clearly Sherlock did too, as the man sat up at the breakfast bar without saying a word.

As was his habit, the small man unconsciously shared out the food; heaping all of Sherlock's favourites on to a clean plate and keeping all the stuff he didn't like back on his.

'You usually require more to eat,' the detective remarked knowingly; pointing to the meagre amount on his flat mate's plate.

'Not hungry,' John mumbled distractedly with a little sigh, which of course made Sherlock scowl at the bowed head front of him. He was irritated that his little friend had so easily slipped back into his former mood of worry and frustration.

'Would you like to hold my hand?' the detective then asked quite calmly, as if he was asking him to do nothing more than pass the salt.

The doctor jumped, almost dropping his plate. Flustered, he drew in a shaky breath and stared as Sherlock laid his hand, palm up on the table for him to take.

Of course he accepted, after a moment of dithering like an idiot, and as Sherlock gently caressed his fingers with his thumb, he concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths.

John couldn't believe he was here, with Sherlock, alone in this beautiful house, holding his hand. The thought had never crossed his mind that he would ever get the opportunity to do something so wonderful. If he just closed his eyes now, it would be so easy to imagine that they had actually planned a romantic holiday in the country, weeks in advance.

'Would you like to sit in my lap?' the tall man then suggested.

John dropped his fork on the tiled floor.

'Sherlock, what you are doing?!' the doctor snapped in surprise, as his heart hammered a bit uncomfortably in his chest.

'It's a yes or no question John,' he remarked in his usual impassive manner.

The doctor huffed nervously as he reached for clean cutlery, 'no…not right now. But thanks for the offer.'

'Nothing has changed about me John,' Sherlock warned him with a stern look, 'if you want me to do something, you should just ask. I don't _do_ subtlety at all, as you very well know. Don't say no when you mean yes. John, would you like to sit in my lap?

'No…not right now,' the small man repeated in a more firm tone but with a rueful laugh. Sherlock always did the unexpected, so why would he be any different now? 'I am alright with just holding your hand.'

Sherlock look unbelieving, but John was thankful when he dropped the question.

'Earlier by the car, when I kissed you, was that okay? Did I do it right?' the detective leaned forward and asked with a curious expression, 'On reflection John, I don't know why you are so interested in me of all people. I don't have a lot of experience, as you also very well know. I will try my very best but I don't think you would really enjoy me at all.'

_Enjoy me?!_

A delicious picture of a naked Sherlock, lying along the breakfast bar suddenly popped into John's head, and he struggled to keep a straight face.

'I won't be disappointed. You are a great kisser,' the small man reassured him, as he felt his face turn pink.

Sherlock frowned, 'Thank you, but now you are distressed. Did I say something wrong?'

'I am not distressed. I am happy; overwhelming so, but it's not the type of happy where you smile,' John replied as he gently turned over his hand and threaded his fingers more securely together with Sherlock's, 'I could never have anticipated how unbelievably supportive you are being.'

Sherlock raised a scornful eyebrow, 'please John, I think you are letting your imagination run away with you. Don't confuse all of this with a rush of sentiment, which I am incapable of. I am interesting in maintaining our good relationship. It is very important to me. I would do anything to make sure it continues to function at peak efficiency.'

John smiled gently at the peculiar way Sherlock talked about their friendship. He couldn't deny he felt a little disappointed though, by the man's cold analytically words but this was Sherlock. If he really loved the detective, he wouldn't wish him to be what he wasn't. In the big picture, Sherlock cared if he was happy or not, and that was enough. It was more than some people had.

'Yeah…it's important to me too,' the doctor remarked softly, 'but you don't _have_ to do this, just because I want it. We don't have to…you know, sleep together or anything. If you could just let me hold you and kiss you ever so often, I would consider myself quite fortunate. I'm not greedy.'

The detective shook his head at him in exasperation, 'I have no problem being your lover. Why would I? You are my best friend. Except for when you have me drug tested every month, I enjoy your companionship at all times and in all situations, I am sure this will be no different. YOU are over thinking the matter entirely.'

John was equal parts pleased and flabbergasted by this little speech. In between insulting him and treating him like a servant, it would be nice if Sherlock said such loving words like this out loud more often.

'When did you know?' the doctor asked in a eager whisper; wishing to prolong this new found mental intimacy for as long as he could. Sherlock didn't normally comment on 'dull matters' like his feelings, very often.

'I always knew you found me attractive,' Sherlock replied carelessly as he swallowed his latest mouthful of salad, 'and who can blame you? I am a handsome devil.'

This supreme smugness on the other man's face made John groan and then snort with laughter.

'But I think you only became aware of how strong your attraction really was, after we me meet Atler.'

Startled, John tried to take his hand back, but of course Sherlock wouldn't let him.

'John?'

'I DON'T want to talk about her alright!' the doctor shouted unreasonably, 'just change the subject!'

Confused and dazed, Sherlock looked on miserably as John began playing with his food, until the doctor gave up and pushed the plate to one side. Immediately, Sherlock put down his fork too.

'Did you sleep with her?' the doctor asked tersely; propping up his forehead in one hand as he minutely studied the counter top.

'John…I don't see…'

'It's a yes or no question!'

'No I didn't. I have never slept with anyone.'

'What? Are you for real?' John blurted out rudely before he could stop himself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he picked up his fork and speared the mushrooms on his plate; _his_ appetite seemingly unaffected by the discussion, 'Is this the part where you construct some sort of amusing insult about my lack of experience.'

'Of course not,' the small man said automatically; squeezing their joined hands attempting to convey his love and support.

'Oh…well, that will be a first,' Sherlock replied, 'Thank you.'

It took a while, but after he had gotten over his initial astonishment at Sherlock's confession, John found his voice again, 'Blimey Sherlock, if it hadn't come up in the conversation, were you going to tell me that you haven't slept with anyone before?'

'Sorry, I don't see the relevance.'

John looked at him in incredulously, 'Don't you want to save your virginity for someone special? I think you should.'

It was Sherlock who now looked over with an entirely surprised expression on his face.

'John, you don't see yourself clearly at all.'


	5. Do you like what you see?

Chapter 5- **Do you like what you see?**

Modestly, John opened the bathroom door just enough for him to put one eye out, 'Sherlock, did you take my clothes?!'

'You don't have to shout,' his flatmate informed him, 'I am right out here in the bedroom. Yes, your clothes are in the washing machine. Do utilise my dressing gown behind the door.'

John looked and sure enough Sherlock's navy blue dressing gown was hanging there. He hesitated for a moment before his practical side took over. He hadn't bought a change of clothes with him and this was most likely the only thing that his friend had that was adjustable.

The doctor swallowed hard as he stepped out of the bathroom, which adjoined the luxurious suite that comprised one of Henry's guest rooms. Given the current circumstances, being naked underneath Sherlock's soft dressing gown was not helping him feel any calmer, but just then he caught sight of his friend, and he smiled to himself.

Most times Sherlock was all dark, mysterious and masterful as he strode around London in his high collar coat; arrogantly pushing his aristocratic nose in everyone's business and aggravating the bejeezus out of everyone in the process. But there were times like now, when his mate was slouched against a stack of pillows in his striped pjs, with an arm thrown causally under his head reading his Kindle, when he looked like the type of man to actually own a pair of ratty trainers, and would willingly jog two miles with him before heading to the nearest bakery to get a powdered sugar donut.

'Do you like what you see?' Sherlock asked in his quiet baritone voice, in a way that could only be described as a smug purr.

John smiled shyly as he shifted from one leg to the next, 'you know that I do, you cheeky bastard.'

Sherlock looked up and gave him an exaggerated wink, causing John to laugh even more. The nervousness returned in full force though, when the detective held out his hand for him to take.

John stared at him. Sherlock stared right back.

'You won't like it if I have to come over there and get you,' Sherlock warned him in another warm rumble that only served to raise all the hairs on the back of his arm.

The threat was enough to spur the man forward and as the doctor made it to the bed and took his hand, he was immensely grateful not to have fallen flat on his face. Of late, there was something about the detective that turned him into a mass of uncoordinated arms and legs. However, John almost swallowed his tongue, when Sherlock grasped him firmly by his shoulders and pushed him gently back on to a pillow.

'There you see!' the detective chided him, as he busied himself rearranging his stack of pillows for sleeping. 'All this worry and fuss for nothing. For God's sake John it's just me, not the bogeyman. Take deep breaths. It will help.'

The doctor flushed in embarrassment, and obediently took the deep breaths as instructed.

'You were quite a long time in the bathroom,' the detective mused as he switched off his Kindle and the table lamp, 'you weren't masturbating, were you?'

_Christ! Anyone would think that I was the virgin and not Sherlock._

'No I wasn't masturbating,' John replied in a strangled voice, marvelling at how calm the detective could sound talking about this.

'But you were thinking about it,' he asked as he lay on his side, and tucked a hand under his angular cheek.

'Well…yes,' the small man admitted, turning his head to look into the pair of grey eyes that danced with the light from the fireplace, 'Take the edge off, I suppose.'

The detective scowled fiercely.

'Didn't we talk about this? If you want to get off, you can ask me now,' Sherlock berated him sternly, 'we just have to find a moment for you to show me once how you like it done. Are you aroused now?'

'Do you masturbate?' John asked curiously, ignoring the provocative bit on the end in favour of interesting information.

'Yes.'

_oh wow..._

'Do you think about anyone while you're doing it?' the doctor blurted out, before he could realise what he was saying.

_Why did I ask that? Shit! Do I really want to know this? _

Sherlock's forehead wrinkled in confusion, 'No one in particular. Why?'

Eager for more information about his secretive friend, John rolled on his side so that he was facing the man. 'So… why do you masturbate?'

_Why can't I stop talking!_

Fortunately Sherlock didn't seem to mind, and he shrugged his slim shoulders, 'I usually do when I am stressed, or I need a distraction and if I can get my mind to slow down enough, the release can be quite pleasant.'

John gave him a big stupid grin, relieved to hear that his friend enjoyed these things. Sometimes you had to wonder with all these rumours flying around, about Sherlock being asexual or frigid.

John was so happy right now, he felt as though he was floating. This is what he wanted to hear. He was thrilled that there maybe some chance that Sherlock would enjoy being with him too. John knew he was frumpy and ordinary compared to his friend, but that would make no difference in the dark! He would just switch the lights off or something like that.

'Is there anything else on your mind tonight, John?' the other man asked with an indulgent smile; knowing full well the doctor wasn't usually this chatty at this hour of the night.

_Only one of a thousand different things._

'Yes…' he said hesitantly, begging Sherlock with his eyes to continue his tolerant behaviour, 'just a few more questions.'

Sherlock sighed patiently, 'go ahead. Do you realise this is the longest conversation that we've had in a while, which hasn't erupted in shouting and cussing. It's quite good, isn't it?'

Immediately the doctor felt guilty. 'I am sorry I put you through all of that.'

The detective snorted loudly, before throwing a careless arm over his flat mate's hip as if they shared a bed everyday, 'As Lestrade has pointed out to me on many occasions, I am a lucky prick that you put up with me in the first place. John, I could see that you were suffering and if it was my secret to share, I would have asked someone for advice long ago. I am pleased that once again you favour me with your trust. Ask your questions.'


	6. The rules

Chapter 6- **The rules**

'The virginity thing…how did you manage?' John fired out rapidly before Sherlock changed his mind, 'is there a reason behind this? I mean in Uni, weren't you even the least bit curious?'

'Yes, I was curious,' the detective snorted with his usual disdain, as if John had once again asked him something extraordinarily silly, 'Everyone was so desperate to have sex and to have it as frequently as possible, that I knew it must be something wonderful. Of course I wanted some too.'

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste, 'Do you really want to talk about this?

_Yes! _

'It will help,' the doctor answered evenly, 'you won't _believe_ how it will help. For instance, being physically close to you, doesn't feel strange to me at all. Tell me something of your experiences.'

'I found it generally wet and suffocating,' was the calm and thoroughly unexpected reply.

_Huh?_

John felt his heart plunge straight down into his stomach, so great was his disappointment.

Sherlock hated it.

It was truly a good thing that the doctor was already laying down at this exact moment. He took a deep breath in to settle and pull himself together.

'You didn't like it?' John mumbled desolately.

'No, I did not,' Sherlock's eyes glittered with dark emotion, 'well…some parts I liked. I liked the kissing for the most part. It clears my head in a way no pharmaceutical product can.'

Hope bubbled cautiously in John's chest.

'Do you like kissing?' Sherlock asked, suddenly excited.

'Yes I do,' the small man answered distractedly, 'but explain the suffocating part to me, Sherlock. This is important.'

'I am more interested to know when you think you would be ready to try some kissing.'

_Wait, is Sherlock staring at my mouth?_

The doctor brushed off this observation and reached out his hand to grip his best friend's shoulder, 'Are you avoiding my question?'

For the first time that night; the first time actually since this amazing roller coaster began, the detective dropped his eyes.

Worriedly, John waited for the man to look up again. He felt strangely empty, now that he couldn't see directly into his friend's face.

Eventually, the detective took the small hand that was on his shoulder and laced it tightly with his, 'John, when you are with your girlfriends, did you have rules for bed?'

John's brow furrowed. That was a strange one. 'Not rules per say, as much as by mutual agreement but if you want to get technical, yes I have rules. One man's cup of tea is not for everyone.'

As the silence continued, John very gently reached out one hand and softly cupped the side of the man's face.

'I miss those beautiful eyes,' he murmured pitifully.

From this angle, he could just see the gleeful smile on the detective's face. John wasn't beyond a little manipulation at times, and realising now that Sherlock's ego was getting a big kick out of this part, he remorselessly used it to his own end.

'I am glad you said that about rules,' Sherlock admitted as he looked up, 'because as much as I don't mind renting out my body to you for experimentation, there are things that I don't want done to it.'

A series of the most graphic images, flashed across John's eyeballs. Why or why did Sherlock have to use the phrase, 'rent out my body'?

It took him a good minute to recover his voice again, 'so you have some rules for me?

The detective's eyes flickered dangerously in the semi darkness, 'First off, for the preservation of my sanity; my name is Sherlock, not cutie pie, doll face, cupcake, pumpkin or some other nonsense!'

_Bummer… I really like the pumpkin one….don't smile... don't smile… don't smile._

'Don't grab my butt in public; actually don't grab me at all please,' Sherlock continued in an aggravated voice. 'I need to breathe in the middle of a kiss. Don't stick your tongue down my throat to the point where I gag, and if you want me to take off my shirt, just ask. I was always annoyed when so many of my things got ruined that I sprayed most of my visitors with pepper spray, and threw them out. Of course i won't spray you, but i will be so annoyed, that I will make your ears ring!'

_Gag? Pepper spray? What the hell?_

'I don't want to be tied up, so don't ask,' the detective then insisted in a firm tone, 'You're small and light, so I don't think I will have that trouble about being smothered into the mattress.'

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, 'If I can confess to you John, that was always the worse part; the absolute worse. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move… I couldn't do it. Soon, everyone in school found out that I regularly threw off my partners in the middle of sex. The natural conclusion to this rubbish, was that no one wanted to have much to do with me after a while. I could never figure out which part of all of this was supposed to be fun. I lost interest.'

At this point, John was so stupefied that when he opened his mouth, no words came out.

'But if that's what you have your heart set on, I can try,' the detective said in a resigned voice, 'however, I cannot do something like that every night, not even for you.'

'Nah… I know some people really get off on this dominatrix stuff, like our dear Ms. Atler, but it's not really my thing,' John said with a causal shrug of his shoulders, wondering if Sherlock really understood all that he was saying. The doctor was horrified that so many things seemed to have gone wrong for his friend. Sherlock wasn't frigid at all; he had been traumatised and didn't even know it! Some of this even sounded like borderline rape. Thank God Sherlock had enough physical training to get out.

'Oh,' Sherlock murmured quietly, in that way that he often did when John did something that surprised him, 'thank you.'

Wasn't there anyone nice at this university? Sherlock's aspergers was probably creeping up on him and coupled with all the uncomfortable close contact; it must have been a hellish and confusing time for the young man.

John moved closer trying to offer him some comfort. Obligingly, the other man opened his arms, and the doctor quickly scooted over to share his pillow. John didn't try and embrace his friend however; instead allowing the man to set the boundaries of what he felt comfortable with. He had to smile in personal pride, as Sherlock gathered him close to his body; clearly feeling no threat from the small doctor in his arms.

'Besides the kissing, the parts I enjoyed the most, were putting on my best clothes and going to the theatre,museums and concerts,' Sherlock tacked on, 'can we do some of that?'

'As much as you want, I promise,' the doctor replied, 'How about the circus; one without anyone trying to murder us?'

Sherlock's intense eyes, just inches from his face, sparkled in pleasure now.

'I remember calling mummy on the telephone at University …had to wait in line,' Sherlock murmured, 'you remember those phones that you put the coins in?'

'What did she say?'

'She told me to wait. Things would be a better when I found a friend to make love to. I don't think she imagined it would take nine years for this to happen.'

Suddenly Sherlock frowned, 'Do you think something is wrong with me? Perhaps, I have a malfunction. Is Donovan right when she calls me a freak?'

'You are not a freak!' John said sharply; his eyes flashing with anger. 'Over dinner, you said that I was a special person, and I believed you. Now you must believe me, when I tell you that you do not have a malfunction, you are not a freak…you are in fact, quite …quite amazing.'

Sherlock stared back impassively.

'I wish I was there with you at Uni,' John whispered, as he raised his hand to gently caress the side of the man's face, 'I would have taken better care of you than those idiots.'

'You're here now,' the detective remarked with a small smile, as John's gentle, careful touch relaxed him, as it always did.

As much as John had fantasied for months about having wild, sweaty sex with his best mate; there was no rush. They were together now in this...whatever this was. And he wasn't going to worry about the future. He would continue to take care of Sherlock as he always had been, and Sherlock would take care of the 'sex part' at his own pace, as he had said he would.

'This is fantastic,' the detective said sleepily; blinking like an owl as he pulled John even closer and tucked him under his neck, 'we should have done this as you soon as you moved in. I am going to add this to my hard drive in the good sex folder.'

John laughed quietly as he turned his head and pressed a soft kiss on the man's collar bone, 'You do that.'

TBC


	7. why waste the opportunity

Chapter 7- **why waste the o****pportunity**

John closed his eyes and breathed in slowly; enjoying the nearness and heat of the man that he was wrapped around.

The talk had been excellent; better than he imagined and he felt so close to Sherlock right now. He hadn't wanted it to be one sided with the detective doing all the giving, and he all the taking and now John saw an opportunity to do both. His heart beat with emotion for his friend; knowing it was in his power, to provide him with an affirming experience that he could treasure and use as a comparison, throughout the rest of his life.

It was quiet here in the room. You couldn't hear the never ending hum of London through the window. You couldn't hear anything except for that last log of wood, flickering in the fireplace and the sound of their breathing. Soon the log would burn itself out and they would be plunged into darkness.

He should be falling asleep now, but his body had different ideas as Sherlock's index finger absently caressed his hip; starting a slow, delightful simmering of his blood.

Perhaps, he should tell him to stop.

Why the fuck would I do that, another part of his brain asked.

Sigh.

'Sherlock, maybe you shouldn't…'

'A new composition has come into my head,' Sherlock interrupted him, 'quiet please.'

Now while something like that wouldn't do it for any one else, it did it for John. The very idea that the man he wanted as a lover, was tracing out musical notes on his hip, caused what had started as a pleasant rush of arousal through his veins, to ignite into a roar; racing through his body like a fire out of control. Without conscious thought, he rutted gently against the man's sinewy leg.

Once.

Twice.

'John?'

'Sorry,' the small man laughed in embarrassment as he edged away, 'It's not your fault that I am a horny bastard. Just ignore it and go back to sleep.'

'Nonsense,' Sherlock replied, as he rolled his mate on to his back, 'why waste the opportunity.'

The doctor gasped, when Sherlock quickly loosed the sash of his dressing gown and delicately spread the fabric apart.

'Show me,' the detective requested as he guided John's hands to his swelling cock. 'I want to learn. Show me how you like it done.'

Jesusss.

John's eyes flew open, and yes, Sherlock was there looking down between his legs.

'You want to watch me masturbate?' he asked, just to make sure of the detective's request. He was amazed that he could be this coherent. Well that wouldn't last for long at the rate they were going.

'Yes please.'

_Yes please?! _

Well damned, if those words delivered in a most atypical polite manner for the consultant, didn't almost send him over the edge.

Was he really going to do this for Sherlock? No one had ever asked to watch. Did people do this?

'Can you open your legs a bit wider?' Sherlock instructed, 'yes? Excellent. John? Breathing at regular intervals is of critical importance for prolonged good health.'

The doctor let out the breath he didn't know he was holding before shakily spreading his legs apart. It took him a little while to work up the nerve to perform for an audience, but John kept his eyes firmly fixed on Sherlock's as he intimately massaged himself. In just a few strokes, he forgot about his earlier hesitance as his erection grew under his hands.

He tried to keep focused to take in his friend's reaction but of course, thinking while you were hard as a rock was never possible. Well at least Sherlock didn't look scared or repulsed; more absorbed and thoughtful than anything else.

The other man's face soon became his proverbial lighthouse in a dark storm, as the doctor writhed and panted under his unwavering gaze. His skin broke out in a small sheen of sweat as the blood pounded in his groin, sending waves of such god awful pleasure through each part of his body, that he had to have more and he had to have it right now! Accordingly, he increased his strokes to match.

'That looks quite enjoyable,' the detective remarked conversationally.

He was starting to rock in earnest now, and still Sherlock hadn't moved an inch; too intent on cataloging with his oh so incredible mind, the way his bed mate varied his speed, the number of times he alternated between his cock and his balls, the way he gasped every time his hand closed around his dripping tip.

John had never been so aroused in all his life, and Sherlock hadn't even touched him; not once.

'Sherlock please,' he started begging mindlessly. 'Please.'

'John?' he asked in concern, 'are you alright?'

His legs were shaking with the intensity of his erection. He couldn't hold on for much longer now.

'Fuck, Sherlock! Do something…anything…'

His breathing had long changed into a series of sharp gasp, but hell if he noticed that, as the detective crawled over his body and positioned himself right over him. Waiting.

_What? Waiting for what?_

But it was too late to figure out what the other man wanted. Even as he tried to slow down to hold his release at bay, it started to pound away at the base of his spine.

In that last second, John craned his head back so that he could look full into the man's eyes.

_God, he is so beautiful._

It was his last coherent thought, before his pleasure tore him apart and arched his body off the bed.

With surprising strength the slim man caught his body in mid air and crushed him to his chest, tilting his head back with his other hand before slamming his lips over his. Long past the point of thinking rationally, the doctor shouted his release into Sherlock's open mouth; clutching the man so hard around his back that as they crashed back down into the bed together, it was sure to leave bruises. Desperately, John wound his bare legs tightly around the man's slim waist as he bucked and rubbed and squeezed out every last drop of his orgasm to the very end.

Silence came in a long slow sigh, and John opened his arms as he slipped off into the abyss into a dreamless sleep.


	8. Boyfriend?

Chapter 8- Boyfriend?

The sun, warm on his bare shoulder,woke John slowly.

Of course, there was a moment of disorientation as to where, what and why, but that soon passed as he stretched luxuriously in the fine Egyptian cotton sheets.

He was on holiday with Sherlock, and the detective had so kindly allowed him to sleep in for once.

He didn't know why he was naked though, and he rooted through the covers and then the floor of the bedroom searching for the dressing gown that he was wearing last night. In the distance, he could hear Sherlock puttering around downstairs.

While he searched, John thought about the events of the night before, and he passed his fingers over his slightly swollen lips.

Their first kiss had been brutal, but in a good way.

'Definitely have to invent a different story for the grand kids,' he murmured, chuckling quietly to himself.

'Sherlock! I can't find your robe!' he called out admitting defeat, as he pulled the sheet around his body. It was a little chilly in the large room.

'I'm wearing it!' Sherlock called up unexpectedly, 'Don't get out of bed.'

With a stupid giggle and a big smile, John fell back on his pillow with a contented sigh. However, his pulse started to quicken as he heard the man's light step on the stair case.

Would it be okay if he leaned over and kissed Sherlock again? Yes it would, because Sherlock was the one who initiated it last night. John was sorry he had fallen asleep so quickly afterwards but he wasn't surprised. He hadn't been sleeping well for weeks on end. In the overall scheme of things, he was just glad that Sherlock had the guts to speak up and try and do something to save their friendship. John wasn't sure where they were going from here but hell, anything had to better than where they were.

Anyhow, enough of this mental meandering. Right now, his libido was up (no pun intended) and that one little memory of a kiss from last night, was not enough. John licked his lips eagerly and sat up as Sherlock strode in.

The doctor gasped in shock; his plan of sneaking a good morning kiss evaporating from his mind, when the other man hefted a huge tray of breakfast into his lap.

The detective looked stricken at his friend's pale expression and minutely examined the tray, 'What? Did I do something wrong?'

John shook his head quickly.

'No,' he said in a soft voice of awe, 'thank you.'

Sherlock looked doubtful but relaxed when John picked up his cup of tea.

'I did some research on the internet while you slept,' Sherlock explained, 'I found this list of how to be a good boyfriend. Making breakfast was the _least _nauseating activity.'

John almost choked out his toast, 'Boyfriend?!'

Sherlock looked across at him impassively, 'yes, boyfriend. I have been your flat mate for a number of months John. I know you need more than a quick shag. Naturally you are going to have to give me some directions on what you would like. Remember to be specific! Text me if you don't think your requests are penetrated my brain.'

Why was it that everything that involved the detective, made you feel as though you were in a middle of a hurricane?

_Boyfriend?!_

_Boyfriend._

_Well...um. Okay._

'So that's what we're telling people?' John asked unsurely.

'I don't give a curse what you tell people,' Sherlock responded in his usual querulous tone as he turned away and pressed his fingers together to think.

Silence fell but it wasn't unpleasant. It was quite like any other morning, when Sherlock patiently waited for his blogger to finish eating his food. The exceptions being that the detective didn't normally cook and John did usually eat naked.

'Can you sit closer?' John asked, taking the "be specific plan" out for a test drive.

He smiled as Sherlock shuffled a little closer. Now, the doctor could comfortably rest his hand on any part of the detective's body that he wanted. His eyes narrowed on to the man's back.

'Can you remove your robe?'

Sherlock turned his head with a reluctant look, 'I would rather you eat first. You didn't have much at dinner last night. This is not a rejection; food first, sex later.'

John grinned happily at his unspoken promise, 'No, actually I just want to _see_ your back. I think I may have hurt you last night.'

'You did,' Sherlock said causally with a shrug, 'It's alright. You can't help being enthusiastic about me.'

The doctor hissed as though he was the one in pain, and tried to tug the man's robe off his shoulders but Sherlock slid out of his grasp. 'John. Just eat. It's fine. My skin bruises easily. You'll get use to it.'

'I doubt that,' John remarked darkly as he opened his arms. Once again, Sherlock sat close, but this time John concentrated on his breakfast, coaxing the detective to have small nibbles ever so often. Surprisingly Sherlock took the small bites without a fuss. Did the man like to be hand fed? John stored the idea up for further exploration.

When breakfast was done, Sherlock inspected the empty plates with a nod and promptly removed his robe and pulled down his pyjama shirt. John turned his head away with a groan of anguish, sickened at the ugly blue black marks decorating the man's skin.

'Sherlock I am so sorry,' he whispered sadly, feeling the moisture gather at the back of his eyeballs. 'Christ. I am so sorry.'

'You can kiss it and make it better,' Sherlock suggested eagerly.

John laughed out loud, smiling warmly at such a childish notion but he didn't have a problem with such traditional medicine. He was careful to take another sip of coffee to warm up his lips, just in case.

Rising up on his knees, he braced his weight on Sherlock's shoulder, before leaning down to kiss the man's back, excitedly enjoying the soft moan of pleasure that the other man emitted. With more confidence now, he started to suck softly on the man's flesh, as he kissed and caressed a path along the smooth expanse of his skin.

'Good?' John asked breathlessly.

'I now understand when people say sweet torture,' Sherlock croaked out, as he turned his head and swiftly captured the man's mouth with his.

John jerked in surprise, but quickly melted into the man's embrace; allowing Sherlock to take control as he thoroughly enjoyed this dark fantasy that he never thought would be his. The detective was more than happy to oblige and pushed the man back on to the bed; slowly exploring every inch of John's mouth as if they had all the time in the world.

With a little sigh, John curled his arms softly round Sherlock's neck,sure that his heart was pounding so fast and so loud in his chest, that surely the other man could hear it. Apparently, Sherlock really did enjoy kissing and he was pretty good at it too.

'John, can I touch you?' the detective begged in a whisper.

By this time the doctor could barely think straight, as he greedily pulled the man closer not wanting to lose one bit of Sherlock's heavenly lips pressed against his. 'That's very gentlemanly, but you don't have to ask for…permission.'

John's eyes flew open in shock, when he suddenly felt Sherlock's big hand between his legs.

Oh.

That's what Sherlock meant by touch.

It was not what John wanted but damn if it didn't feel good, as his eyes closed shut and he moaned out loud like some common slut.

John was always a considerate lover and he wanted Sherlock to enjoy the experience of being flat on his back, while the doctor figured out, 'just the way he liked it'. If the detective didn't stop this now, all his lovely plans for Sherlock would evaporate. The man still had on all his clothes for goodness sake! How was this fair?

'Sherl, don't you want to have a turn?' John panted between kisses; glancing down along the line of his naked body; enjoying the sight of the man's long fingers massaging his softness into a plump, hard bundle of agonizingly sweet nerves and muscle.

'Of course, as soon as I am done here,' the detective replied with an incredible amount of control and indifference as he pushed John's legs open; both actions intensely arousing to his already overheated mind.

To thank him for his generosity, John pushed his fingers roughly through Sherlock's curly hair, angling his head to deepen the kiss. Sherlock's satisfied hum of pleasure, swept all of John's plans for him to one side.

_Christ! Who the hell cared whose turn it was?! He could fuck Sherlock for the rest of the day, if he wanted to! He was on holiday, dammit!_

With a muffled grunt, John's whole body clenched with sudden passion, as Sherlock's thick tongue started to rhythmically caress the insides of mouth in time with the motion of his warm hand, curled around his penis. Without realising it, the doctor fell into a sort of mindless stupor of sensation, as he lay sprawled motionless on the bed, while the other man worked on him. The only thing he could feel were two points of pleasure pulsating in his body every few seconds; one from his chest as he struggled to drag in sufficient oxygen, and the other from the sweet building pressure between his legs.

The doctor tried to pull himself together to at least focus on the kiss so Sherlock wouldn't have to do all the work, but that too was a colossal failure as his head lolled back on the pillow. John groaned anew when he abruptly realised that the wet sounds that Sherlock's hand was making as he stroked, was his pre-cum dripping through his fingers.

Sherlock laughed devilishly along the line of his exposed throat, 'oh yes, you are quite enthusiastic about me, aren't you?'

Well that's what John thought he said, as most of the doctor's brain was solely focused on the feel of Sherlock's wonderful hands sliding up and down, working his throbbing cock.

'You're a very good student,' John complimented him in broken voice, clutching desperately at the bed sheets this time; not wanting to leave any more marks on Sherlock's skin in his enthusiasm, 'quite good.'

'Top marks?' Sherlock laughed softly, wondering if it was normal to make jokes and lighter banter in the middle of sex.

'Top of the class,' John huffed with a strangled gasp.

'Thank you,' Sherlock hummed softy in his ear; leisurely bringing up his other hand to tenderly stimulate Johns' balls, as he had seen the other man do it.

Sherlock felt fully rewarded for his careful and precise efforts, as the doctor arched straight of the bed and started to curse loudly.

Gleefully Sherlock soaked up all the profanity, deeply regretting that he wasn't recording this. He was extremely impressed that the gentle doctor could string together so many obscenities in such a grammatically correct sentence.

'Faster! John yelled out, 'Fuck Sherlock. Just a little more ….please.'

'Are you close, John?' the detective asked a little worried now, not liking the way the smaller man was thrashing around on the bed. He didn't want the doctor to hurt himself. Was he doing something wrong? As much as he hated the idea, the detective reached out one hand and grabbed the man's hips to hold him down.

'John, can you open your eyes? I want you to look at me when you are coming, like how you did last night,' Sherlock pleaded in a soft wistful voice as more of the doctor's pre-cum leaked out in a tell tale signal. 'I've never had anyone look at me like that. It was …'

The rest of Sherlock's words were drowned out as the doctor opened his eyes and screamed out his name.

Startled, the detective almost let go as the long ropes of blood hot semen, suddenly squirted over his fingers and into his lap; but he didn't. Smiling peacefully, he helped the man ride out his orgasm.

John had looked at him again.

It was worth another trip downstairs to the washing machine, to see that particular expression.

'Kiss me,' the doctor requested in a hoarse voice. Sherlock gathered the man's limp body close and pressed his lips to his. Normally the detective didn't take orders from anyone, but he found he wasn't having any problem with that now.


	9. Complicated

Chapter 9- **C****omplicated**

John sighed as he peeked over the side of the bath tub and through the open door, into the bedroom beyond. The detective had just deposited him there in the warm water with a stern admonition to wash. John wasn't embarrassed by this; he _was_ a doctor after all. Even though Sherlock kept their living area in Baker Street like a giant walk in rubbish bin, the detective was a man of impeccable personal hygiene and John had to agree that all the sticky cum, now drying on his stomach and thighs wasn't so pleasant to be around.

However, what the doctor was more focused on as the tub continued filling with warm water, was the sight of Sherlock bustling around the bedroom, tidying up! John even took the precaution of rubbing his eyes once to ensure it wasn't a hallucination. The tall man was in the process of stripping the bed and laying out fresh clean linen, and as stupid as it might sound, the sight of such domesticity gave John as much butterflies in his stomach as the few times Sherlock had trailed around their flat, fresh from a shower with his towel riding low on his hips.

John sighed again as he reached up over his head and turned off the tap, a bit anxious at this realization of the deep attraction he had for the other man. It might still be too early to tell, but John was beginning to suspect that what he felt for Sherlock wasn't just a passing physical infatuation at all. This could get complicated.

'What?' Sherlock inquired over his shoulder, noticing that the other man was staring. John quickly averted his eyes and pretended to be interested in reading the label on the bottle of body wash.

'Nice to have you tidying up for a bit,' John threw out quickly, 'cheers.'

Sherlock nodded, 'the internet said that sharing the chores keeps your partner happy. Are you feeling happy?'

Again, the swooping uncomfortable sensation in his tummy, and he nodded without speaking. Christ, he had forgotten Sherlock was doing what some list on the internet said to do. So all of this wonderful stuff wasn't really him; the breakfast, the cleaning up...wait, was the morning sex they just had on this list?!

John felt disappointment hammering away in his chest, as he slouched down in the water. Listlessly, he was scrubbing himself clean when a different thought hit him out from the blue; causing him to gawk in astonishment.

The list!

Oh God. Was Sherlock treating this like some giant science experiment; mentally trying out different scenarios and types of behavior and assessing how happy it made John? The detective was probably recording all his results in his mobile, just as he did for his chemistry projects! The doctor covered his face with one hand. Far from being strange and out of character, this was just the sort of mad thing Sherlock would think was a good idea.

John rolled his eyes and then giggled ruefully to himself. Sherlock was such an amazing person to go through all this trouble to ensure their 'friendship was operating at peak efficiency', that it was quite impossible _not_ to be a little bit in love with him.

'Do you need anything? I am going to stuff these in the machine,' the detective announced, pulling off his blue dressing gown and tossing it on the heap on the floor.

'One kiss?' John begged, wanting something solid to hold on to.

Sherlock promptly marched into the bath, leaned over and kissed him on his mouth, as though they did this everyday. Either it was intuition or Sherlock deduced him, but the kiss was warm, hard and passionate; everything that John needed to calm him. The doctor melted back into the now sudsy water with a goofy grin, unable to recall what he was so upset about just a while ago.

'Get back into bed when you're done,' the detective ordered as he rose to his feet. 'You still look exhausted. I shouldn't have touched you.'

'Don't apologise,' the doctor requested, 'I like the way your hands feel. Come back and sleep with me?'

The detective didn't respond as he walked out and gathered up the soiled laundry under one arm and picked up the breakfast tray with the other. Unfortunately, all this vigorous activity caused a long lock of his wavy dark hair to fall across his eyes, and Sherlock was forced to blow it off his face with a sharp puff of air. 'This boyfriend business is hard work, John. Be back shortly. I am quite ready for a nap!'


	10. It's just transport

Chapter 10-**It's just transport**

'You know,' John remarked conversationally, 'I never thought of you as a hugger.'

Sherlock looked away from the book he was trying to read in the fading daylight, and glanced down at the doctor half lying on his chest. 'I don't believe I am, but i find it oddly relaxing to have your weight on me.'

John grinned at the detective's deeply contemplative tone, as he stretched and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. Unfortunately, he hadn't woken up when Sherlock climbed back into bed with him and from the look out the window, it seemed to be getting close to Twilight. What was wrong with him?! He knew he had been completely stressed out for weeks, by these 'not so brotherly' feelings he had been having for the other man, but he didn't know how much until now. Sherlock, who never seemed to be the most patient or understanding when it came to feelings, was doing such an amazing job that John didn't know how he was ever going to repay him.

John reached up and brushed his lips lightly against Sherlock's mouth, 'Thank you.'

'It was no trouble,' the detective misunderstood as he awkwardly patted John's back,'you kept me warm and so comfortable that I even slept a little. John, when you decide that you have had enough of me, could I still come sleep with you some nights?'

Startled, the doctor looked up just as Sherlock peered down at him, curious at his sudden change in expression, 'John?'

'And what if I decide I can never have enough of you?'

The detective looked a little blank at first before smiling like the proverbial cat with the canary, 'I always knew you had above average intelligence. I am a much better selection than all those silly little chits that you are always interfering with. Sometimes, I wonder how your brain does not shrivel up from sheer boredom when you talk to them. This is quite a good decision.'

Sherlock frowned and pulled back when John suddenly jumped, 'What?! Did I hurt you?'

'No, no...' the man laughed reassuringly, as he reached for Sherlock's hand and replaced it on his naked butt, 'I am still trying to get use to all of this. You keep that hand right there.'

The doctor smiled a bit vaguely as the detective gave his bottom an experimental pat.

It was very likely that Sherlock could carry on like this indefinitely; once the status quo of interesting cases continued unabated. It was all he really cared about, well that and some time set aside for a considerable amount of kissing. While John found Sherlock's detachment a bit unsettling, there were all types of friendships and relationships in the world; plenty of space for the two of them to find a spot where they could be comfortable. A great surge of hope rose in his chest. Everything would be alright.

'You must be hungry,' the detective then unexpectedly declared, 'See? I remembered you need food. Can I have another kiss?'

'What I _need_ is some clothes,' the small man frowned at him, 'this is the longest I've been naked since I have been a baby, I think. Where are my clothes?'

Absently, Sherlock ran his large hands over the doctor's muscular back causing John to shiver in pleasure, 'I do not understand. Why do you need clothes? It's just me and God in here, and we both know what you look like naked.'

John bit his lip. He really needed to use the bathroom now, but was feeling self conscious about getting up with Sherlock there watching. He was knocking on forty and didn't have his solider's physique anymore. After all, it was one thing all together to being naked and being on the receiving end of a glorious hand job, and just being naked. Maybe he should just wait for the room to get dark.

'So why do you still have your clothes on?' John asked petulantly, still trying to figure out how to not be so obvious about his discomfort, fearing that Sherlock would laugh at him if he knew.

'Because I'm the one doing the chores and the wash up and answering the door bell,' Sherlock explained, 'Not that i am complaining; you really seem tired.'

The detective reached over and pulled his freshly laundered sleeping robe from the chair towards John, 'can you wear this? I enjoyed seeing you in it last night. Is that...not good? It's damned odd this. What a strange notion to have about ones clothes.'

John wriggled into the thick robe gratefully, thankful that the detective was distracted so he wouldn't notice how he turned his body away to tie the sash.

The doctor was just sauntering out of the bathroom after relieving himself and thinking of going down to the kitchen for some food, when he stopped short at the sight of a naked Sherlock sitting cross-legged on the bed.

'Urghj,' John gurgled uncertainly, as he tried to make sense of this wonderful vision of male perfection.

Sherlock shook his head in exasperation, as he confidently climbed to his feet and walked forward. The doctor was reacting as if he had never seen him without his clothes before, which of course wasn't true. The detective could recount at least three occasions where he had been more or less unclothed infront of John, but admittedly that usually involved a case or some sort of injury.

'I don't understand why people get so excited about the human body,' the detective remarked as he unceremoniously whipped off the robe his flat mate was wearing, 'it's just transport.'

Sherlock looked him up and down. 'You're just fine, John. Your scar is truly ghastly. That must have hurt something awful but other than that, I see nothing to explain why you feel the need to cover yourself. You are not at all handsome in the classical sense, but your features, limbs and smile suit me completely and always have. Please stop fretting. It's extremely dull.'


	11. My love

Chapter 11- **My love**

According to Sherlock, whoever wanted to wear clothing had to do the housework.

John snorted loudly at this but didn't really mind. He knew that the detective couldn't keep up this streak of homemaking for long, but it had been impossibly sweet of him to try and do good boyfriend stuff. Besides, John wanted to stretch his legs a bit and collect his thoughts. He had therefore picked up Sherlock's robe from off the chair where it had landed and put it on, preparing to go down and get them some dinner.

The doctor grinned stupidly as he walked down the stairs.

_'You're just fine, John.'_

_'You are not handsome, but your limbs and features suit me and always have.'_

John felt a lightness in his step. There was a truth that rang out in Sherlock's blunt observations which left little room for doubt.

As the doctor floated happily along to the kitchen, he took a moment to reflect on an additional layer of satisfaction, as he thought about how all of this was positively affecting Sherlock. The detective's self esteem had soared through the roof; knowing that someone whose company he preferred to all others, found him intensely desirable and attractive in return. This deduction was based on the way Sherlock had been melodious humming under his breath as he happily curled around his book, under the reading lamp (perfectly at ease with his nudity, of course).

In the meantime though, John stopped short at the mess on the dining room table.

With a soft cry the small doctor ran forward, completely appalled that Sherlock was carrying out what looked like an experiment on Henry's costly furniture. For a moment he stood there to stunned to speak, as he stared down at all the colorful foil packets on the table and littering the floor. Finally, he dropped his head in his hands with a loud groan, unable to look anymore at Sherlock's 'condom testing station'.

Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to have a normal boyfriend.

Keeping his eyes firmly averted, John went into the kitchen and pulled out the food brought by their kindly neighbors; trying not to think about the look on some poor lady's face, when Sherlock had put all the different condom brands on the table to cash.

The doctor carefully gathered everything that could be used as finger foods; some crackers, almonds, cubes of mozzarella, cherry tomatoes and grapes. He then topped it all off by chopping a roast chicken breast and some baked ham, hoping that Sherlock could be at least be persuaded to take it from his hand, as he had done at breakfast.

'My love, you've been out today,' the doctor inquired rhetorically, as he walked back into the bedroom with a tray carrying the large plate and drink of cold tea.

'What did you just call me?' Sherlock looked up in surprise.

John's mind blanked; he couldn't recall what he had just said, so intent was he on finding out what other mischief his flat mate may have perpetrated while he slept.

Cautiously, John sat on the bed just opposite, 'Sorry, I know you don't like pet names. It just slipped out.'

Sherlock continued to look at him impassively but with a hint of worry in his eyes.

'Don't laugh,' John tried to prod him out of his strange mood, 'but I can't remember what I called you. I must be getting old.'

With surprising strength, Sherlock easily pulled him and the tray of food on to his lap.

'Not old,' Sherlock corrected him softly, as he kissed him gently on the cheek, 'Brave...the bravest man that I know. But please remember to call me Sherlock in front of the other detectives at crime scenes, or it might undermine my authority.'

'Brave?' John repeated, bemused, 'Sherlock, _what_ name did I call you?'

The detective shook his head and busied himself on accepting the cracker and chicken that John held up for him.

'Are you sure you are alright?'

Sherlock nodded, 'I did go out while you slept. From my research on the internet, I have discovered we don't have enough supplies for a quality sexual experience.'

John sighed quietly as he gently tapped Sherlock's closed lips with a tomato.

'Sherl, can I just make a comment about your approach?' he began softly as the detective chewed, 'I really appreciate all that you are doing and while the internet is good for many types of research; it is not good for this. I don't want you doing this anymore...we should talk; work out something that fits us. I am not an expert, but you can ask me your questions.'

'I think I would like that,' Sherlock surprisingly agreed without a fuss, 'for a topic that consumes a great deal of time, money and importance in people's lives; the available information is woefully contradictory. I even attempted to watch some porn, and I cannot imagine you speaking like that at all; not unless you were under the influence of strong narcotics.'

The detective patted John's hand, indicating he wanted more food and the doctor huffed with soft laughter. It would appear that the next time Sherlock didn't want to eat, all he had to do was strip naked and hand feed him. John rolled his eyes in amusement as he popped an almond into the detective's mouth; somehow not surprised at all that his friend had an unusual food fetish.

'So, where did you go today?'

'I went to the pharmacy for condoms and lubricant, but there is such a staggering variety from what I remembered back in Uni! I asked the cashier what I should buy, and she said anything that would fit me and something that you would like.'

John smiled around the grape he was eating; his heart beating excitedly that Sherlock was considering penetration.

'I didn't know what you would like,' the man continued, 'so I purchased a variable selection and then walked over to the bed and breakfast to ask for a second opinion.'

Oh boy.

'Billy, looked over what I bought and he told me that some of the condoms could give you an allergic reaction! I have been testing them on myself to make certain.'

John gasped as Sherlock showed him the inside of his left arm, where small red patches were clearly visible; brought on by the chemicals and material used in some of the products.

'Could we just take a blood test and not bother with the condoms?' the detective pleaded, 'It seems like a whole lot of unnecessary fuss.'

The doctor gently kissed the angry red marks, 'you'll be singing a different tune when you have to do laundry every night, but the blood tests are a good idea in any case. Thanks for reminding me.'

'Billy also lent me this book,' Sherlock then added as he picked up the slim volume he had been reading, 'I wanted to buy it from him but it was an anniversary gift from Gary. We must be very careful with it; it has sentimental value.'

John's eyes widened in surprise, as for the first time he focused on the nondescript book that Sherlock had been so intent on. Quickly, the doctor flipped through the pages which contained detailed labelled diagrams and simple step by step instructions, before his eyes lingered for a long time on one page in particular.

'Can you read this title out loud for me?' John asked in a choked whisper.

'Certainly,' Sherlock replied a bit surprised, but obediently he brought the page closer to the light, 'position number five: recommended for a long, leisurely fuck.'

The doctor grabbed his cold ice tea and hastily drank a big gulp.

'John, are you alright?'

The small man shook his head, 'It's one of those things that is difficult to explain.'


	12. Trial and error

Chapter 12- **Trial and error**

Sherlock had been so amused and insufferably smug when John finally confessed that he had always found the detective's baritone voice to be incredibly sexy, that the doctor ducked into the bathroom for a moment to escape.

'Jawnnnnnnnnnn!' Sherlock whined through the closed door, 'why are you mad? Are you going to be in there long? Don't you _want_ to snog me senseless?'

The doctor smiled around the toothbrush that Sherlock had purchased for him in the store. He hadn't been angry as much as mildly irritated. He had developed a thick skin over the months, living with his difficult flat mate.

'I think what you want to say, is that _you_ want to snog me senseless,' John cried out cheekily, as he scrubbed at his molars.

'What difference does it make?!' the detective snapped crossly, as he jiggled the door knob. 'I let you have dinner and sleep all day, and now you go and take off in a snit. How is this fair?!'

For a moment, John eyed the reflection of the door in the bathroom mirror. The door wasn't locked, and Sherlock must realize that by now but yet he had not entered.

'John?' Sherlock said in a tiny, worried voice, 'is this normal?'

Hastily the small man rinsed his mouth and dried his face. The minute he was out of the bathroom, he was almost bowled over by an armful of warm Sherlock. Gently he caressed the side of the man's face, as the detective relentlessly steered him back to the bed, 'Yes, it is normal that when people now get together, they want to kiss all the time. Don't worry, it will simmer down a bit with time.'

When the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, John promptly fell over and then laughed as Sherlock climbed out top of him, and proceeded to demonstrate all the great kissing John missed out on while he was asleep.

'You didn't perhaps buy me any chap stick while you were out?' the doctor asked breathlessly, appreciatively running his hands over Sherlock muscular backside, when the man finally let him up for some fresh air.

The detective smiled down at John, who lay satisfyingly sprawled on the bed beneath him.

'Thank you for letting me do this,' Sherlock replied, 'Your kissing is quite good.'

'My kissing?' John protested with a weak splutter; trying to keep his mind on the conversation and not on how his overly active penis was begging him to pull Sherlock down on top of him and rut against his bony hip, 'this is all on you. All the kissing is now officially your department, and you can wake me up anytime you want to snog me senseless.'

'I didn't get you any chap stick,' Sherlock then replied with a slow devious smile, as he unexpectedly pinned the doctor's two hands above his head before he leaned over and whispered throatily in his ear, 'I will buy you some tomorrow, if you want.'

John bit his lip in pure frustration, as his erection twitched and throbbed helplessly under the sleeping robe. 'Jesus! You're killing me here! Don't do that!

But Sherlock didn't stop...he murmured all sorts of things...the whispers caressing; ghosting across the super sensitive skin under John's neck. Not words of seduction like the lovers he had in the past; but chemical formulas, mathematical equations and something that sounded curiously a little like Arabic, all interspersed between teasing kisses and shallow bites. John groaned as both his mind and body became inflamed by the sound of the man's deep voice, and desperately he writhed under Sherlock's hands trying to get some friction against his cock.

No...no ...not good!

'Sherlock, don't make me...oh god...Sherlock stop...I need your hand; your leg anything! ...Sherlock please!'

Suddenly realizing that something wasn't quite right and that John was most certainly _not_ enjoying himself anymore, the detective ripped off the dressing gown.

'What did I do wrong?' Sherlock finally spoke up, as he finished John off with a clever twist of his wrist.

'Nothing, nothing,' John reassured him as he massaged the man's lanky leg, panting in relief and trying to catch his breath, 'I think it's just me, but I've never really thought of asking another man if a prolonged erection is as painful as I find it. You will have to tell me.'

'Sherlock, you are doing fine,' he said firmly, when he took in the man's downcast face, 'what the book or the internet might not tell you is that sometimes things don't go well and you don't get the reaction you were hoping for. That comes with practice. No one is born being a great lover. You didn't know that would happen.'

Sherlock walked away to wash his hands and moisten a hand towel.

'I have some messages for you,' the detective announced, as he gently wiped the man dry with the damp towel. He still sounded sullen and was avoiding eye contact.

'Anything that sounds like a life or death emergency?'

Sherlock ran them through his head, 'No.'

'Good, because there is something I want to try,' John remarked, appraising Sherlock's half swollen penis that had softened as the detective fretted over his mistake. 'Why don't you lay on your back for me?'

'Thank you,' Sherlock murmured quietly as the doctor fluffed up a pillow for him to lay on, 'Which position are you interested in?'

Only belatedly did the doctor realise he had been staring, as Sherlock craned his neck to look down at his genitals, 'is something wrong? They have always been adequate for my needs.'

The small man laughed nervously and gave himself a little shake to snap out of it. He smiled happily as he took the man's length into his hand and stroked.

'What should I do?' Sherlock prodded as no instructions seemed forthcoming.

'What? You don't have to do anything.'

The detective frowned as he picked up the book and rifled through the pages.

John found himself struggling to hold back a laugh; not wanting to put Sherlock off.

'Sherl, put the book down. Just lay back and enjoy the sensation. If you want, you can give me some instructions.

Finally, the detective seemed to understand.

'John, this is not necessary,' he said quietly, as he stilled John's hand by grabbing his wrist and attempted to pull away. 'It feels nice; but you don't have to.'

The doctor thought quickly.

'I've been wanting to try this for so long,' he pleaded not untruthfully, 'please Sherlock, please.'

The detective seemed a little confused by the request, but waved his hand invitingly over his body, 'of course, if it's something you want; but I am not sure what you are expecting here.'

'Don't you like it when I come for you? That's all I want.'

Sherlock nodded, 'very much but regrettably, I don't have the same reaction as you when I masturbate.'

'Sherlock Holmes, everyone climaxes in their own way!' John said sternly, 'don't you dare do something that isn't you! Nothing would distress me more.'

After a while as the detective just stared at him, Sherlock's lips curled up in a fond smile, 'I can see now why you always have so many lovers. John, can you use some lubricant? Second drawer.'

John gritted his teeth; annoyed that the detective waited so long to tell him that he was in some discomfort. He held his tongue though, because Sherlock now seemed to be more relaxed as he glanced between the bottles; trying to make a selection.

'Coconut scented,' he finally decided.

The doctor warmed the lotion in his hands before gently slicking up Sherlock's cock. Very gently, he began again.

'This may take awhile,' Sherlock warned him.

John shrugged indifferently as though it didn't matter and as the detective opened his arms, the doctor lay on his side; their faces inches apart.

It did take awhile, but John enjoyed every minute as Sherlock slowly came apart right before his very eyes. It had been an amazing, heart pounding thing to witness.

'John?'

'I'm right here,' he murmured softly, as he concentrated on keeping up a steady pace, 'it's alright; relax into me.'

'John?' Sherlock repeated mindlessly as he gasped softly, 'I can't.'

'Look at me,' John commanded in his best military voice and immediately Sherlock's eyes sprung open, startled.'

'Do you trust me, Sherlock?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure? I want you to take a moment and think about it.'

'John, you are the only one I trust.'

'Then trust me now,' the doctor murmured encouragingly, 'Let go and come for me, my love. That's it. Come for me; nothing bad is going to happen. I am right here with you.'

Suddenly Sherlock's entire body went rigid. Quickly he rolled over and buried himself in John's strong arms, silently riding out his release in a soundless scream of pleasure.

When Sherlock came to himself again, John was gently stroking his hair.

'Can we just stay like this for awhile?' he mumbled against the man's skin, 'I have some data to catalog in my mind.'

'Sure. Do you want some water?'

'No. I am fine. Thank you, John.'

* * *

**I started writing this because I have been reading some of the romances out there and I am curious how some other writers feel the need to change Sherlock's personality, as though the person he is currently; is such a bad fit for John. I don't think Sherlock needs to change one thing about himself and I am sure he would be the first to advise that to anyone who asks. Always be yourself; if whoever can't love you for the special unique creature that you are, you are better off alone. **

**It maybe awhile before I update again (work..urghh) but I will. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
